He is screwed up and messing with our heads.
Bartholomew was sitting on his couch and the television was flashing images of stuff he didn’t really need. He was lazily taking bites out of a loaf of bread and was sucking some black olives, like Jesus Christ on a Wednesday morning. At least that was what he thought was doing but knew nothing of carpentering; the poor bastard. His drowsy eyes blinked occasionally and his half-opened mouth seemed thirsty. He has been 7 days already in this condition. The couch was complaining of course but since it had no mouth, no one heard anything.
“What has gone wrong with my life?” he mumbled to his bread. The bread had nothing to say. That or he ate its mouth.
Bartholomew was a priest; 36y.o, unmarried, balding and living with his mother. He was on leave for personal reasons.
Mrs. Stevens, his mother, walked in the living room where B. was sitting and sat by him.
“So mom, can I talk to you?”
“Why yes Bart”, she replied.
“Don’t call me that, I told you a thousand times”.
“I’m sorry son”.
“Mom, do you believe in God? I mean after all these years?”.
“Yes! Of course. Why what’s wrong? Is there something the matter with your church?”.
“No. I mean yes. I don’t know. Kind of”.
“Tell me what’s wrong son”.
“It’s just that, nothing makes sense mom, I wasn’t really into god in the first place. I only did it because dad was a clergyman and God forbid I was not to follow his steps. I hate it mom”.
“Hm.”
“Sometimes I don’t believe in anything. I remember when I was a kid I wanted to be a ninja and I ended up a priest. What the fuck is that? Sorry God. NO, I’m not sorry. F-U-C-K! HA!”.
God was sitting next to him.
“You were saying?...” God said.
Holy shit thought B. stunned.
“Ha ha ha, no! That was this morning” replied God while rubbing his outer bowel area, “but yeah, jeezz, that was some load. We had a party with Col. Sanders and everybody who’s anybody was there for some Fried Chi and beer. You know, the goodfellas. Hitler, Stalin, Judas, Pilot. Haha, we ate every animal there and one thing led to the other and to cut a long story short… No! I’m not revealing what we did but I’ll tell you one thing. Shitting regularly was a problem until recently. Hahaha, good times, good times”.
“Hitler was there? What the…isn’t he in hell?” said B.
“Hell no!... hahahaha, ‘hell no’!!... how do I come up with that shit!? Anyway, no, all these dudes did me good you know. That’s how Christianity prevailed and went from rugs to riches dude. ‘Infidels’ used to beat the crap out of the Christians and because they did nothing (all that ‘turn the other cheek’ stuff) everybody liked them I guess and joined them. People like pussies but hey, c’est la vie. Haahahahaha, I’m French, God is French, Oui, Oo la la, no, mon cheri. HAHAHAHAAAA mon cheri”.
“God, I have a ton of things to ask you and”
“You want me to grand you a wish huh?” interrupted God.
“Yeah, can I?”
“Ok rub my belly”
B. leans over God’s gigantic beer-belly and rubs it cyclically.
“A little more, aahhh that’s it” smiled God and he farted. “HAHAHAHA, way to go Aladdin. Hahahaha, get it? You are Aladdin the running-around-rubbing-everything asshole and I’m the lamp with the genie… ahem… Ok maybe that was too much but hey, it’s Christmas.”.
“God if I die can I go to hell?”
“HAHAHAHA… If I die God, IF, hahahaha. What do you mean IF highlander?”
B. sighed and realized God was messing with our heads all along. That or He is drunk, all the time. He thought ‘Bart’ was a pretty decent name and went off to create something on his own. It wasn’t any good but that didn’t matter.